Nightly Rendezvous
by joyceeee
Summary: Harry decides to find out who his mysterious lover is after another nightly visit. Pretty graphic slash, lots of angst in future, DMHP. My frist ever attempt at writing fanfics, please R&R!


Heh, I never would have thought that my first fanfic would come so close to a full-scale lemon. I don't know if this is too graphic for but I hope you guys enjoy it before (if) it gets removed :P

Do you see a lot of HPDM in Harry Potter? If not, I don't own it…

EDIT: I rewrote the entire thing, and it seems like the plot's going to be a lot darker than I thought it would be. /ANGST WARNING/

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The door opens behind me. I don't have to turn around to know who it is. It's always been him. Well, since three months ago anyway. Soft footsteps approach and my glasses are gently plucked away. I shut my eyes as a silk blindfold slips over them. There is the familiar whispering of fabric as it is deftly knotted behind my head, and unseen hands maneuver my shoulders so that my body turns to face himWe are so close that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. I yearned to know whether or not he was undressed yet; silently conjuring mental pictures of what his soft, smooth skin looked like. Would it be creamy and pale, like melted milk chocolate, perhaps? Or dark and rich like the scent he always seemed to carry, vanilla and cinnamon and exotic foreign fantasies all rolled into one? A small movement in front of me, and soft lips pressed down on mine gently, but with an underlying passion that hinted amply at what was to come. I feel his warm breath ghost over my neck as his mouth moves lower to trail a path of fire down my neck, while his hands traces circles on my lower back. I moan into his touch, and I feel his chuckle vibrate through his body. 

His mouth leaves my throat and I whimper at the loss of his warmth, but one of his hands brushes across my thigh and I gasp out loud. The other hand is busy undoing the buttons on my shirt, and I try to help, fumbling and clumsy, getting my fingers caught. He laughs softly, and gently pushes my hand away. His tongue duels with mine as he pulls my shirt off, and his fingers now roam boldly across my chest. I hiss as his thumb circles my nipple, once, twice, before moving downwards. He once again caresses my inner thighs, teasingly ghosting over the tent in my pants and then traveling down. I grunt in displeasure and I feel him smile. His hand skims back up and pulls down my pants, and I know he is pleased to find me not wearing underwear.

He pulls up from my body then, and I hear the rustle of cloth as he removes his own clothes. Then, he is pushing me onto the floor, and our naked bodies are pulled flush against each other. We both moan at the electricity of contact, and I gasp as a warm tightness suddenly envelopes me. My breath becomes ragged as I arch into the wetness, and his fingers probe gently at my entrance. I thrust down to show my approval, and I hear him pant in reply. He takes his sweet time preparing me, and just when I feel like I would burst with need, he is inside me, filling me, stretching my limits. I shudder and moan as he hits that special spot, and he is encouraged, thrusting faster and harder into me. I feel the slickness of our sweat pooling on my stomach, and I hear him struggle to suppress his moans and gasps. As his thrusts become more erratic, my mind explodes in whiteness, and I hear myself scream as I come. Not long after, a long, low moan fills the air and I am filled with his essence, the warmth spilling over onto my thighs.

He plants a soft kiss on my stomach and collapses on top of me, where I am held gently for a few minutes as we struggle to control our breathing. I wanted this moment to last forever, but after a while, like always, he sits up and prepares to leave.

But not tonight. I won't let him do this to me anymore, to leave me sated physically while driving me insane with the need to find out who he is.

He had already given me some of the most pleasurable and torturous experiences imaginable. He had made me lose my sanity countless times in this very room, when my world bursts into nothingness as I dig my fingernails into his back and scream as I come. He had nearly driven me insane when I lie down in my bed and ache for his touch, to fill this void of emptiness in me with his gentle caresses, his warm body, the rough friction of us moving against each other.

I realized I couldn't live without him anymore, that my life would become meaningless without these nightly meetings to look forward to. I hid my depression well, so that not even Ron and Hermione noticed, but I had begun to lose all hope, all will in existing in this time period they call life. Voldemort was gone, and all at once the title of the Boy Who Lived didn't hold any real meaning anymore. I had nothing left to fight for. At least the press had finally stopped fawning over me, though, preferring to let the Boy Hero sink into the background slowly, slowly, into nonexistence.

But what had started as sheer physical attraction and desire for physical satisfaction had gradually progressed into something more. Over these few months, he had dominated my every waking thought, and I realized I wanted more. I wanted to know him, to know everything about him.

I grip his wrist, and I feel him slowly turning his body to face me. Our bodies are still slick with sweat, and my grip slips a little. But he does not pull away. Still holding his wrist, I pull down my blindfold slowly with my other hand.

The first thing that comes into view are heavy-lidded grey eyes, narrowed and calculating, but still glazed over with the afterglow of sex. Time seemed to stop as I realized that I _knew_ those eyes. I had stared into them countless times, on countless other occasions. Eyes that had also dominated my thoughts in the day and haunted my dreams at night.

"Malfoy." I exhale his name in a long shuddering breath, rolling the syllables over my tongue, as if saying, _tasting,_ the word for the first time. Strangely, though, I felt no disgust, only a curious giddy sensation. Perhaps it was the aftermath of all that sex.

He seemed surprised at my lack of reaction. Had he been expecting me to stand up, slap him and walk out the door? Or for me to start yelling and hexing everything in sight? For a long while, we just sat staring at each other. The tension grew until it was almost tangible, when Malfoy suddenly stood up and began to gather his clothes. No words were exchanged, and I sat in silence, taking in his lean body and pale skin, and slowly committed these images to memory. He paused in the doorway, and glanced back at me one final time before going through and shutting the door. In that one moment, I thought I could see a flash of regret as well as something else in his eyes. When I looked again, there was no hostility, but any sign of warmth had disappeared as well. I suddenly wondered if I had ruined everything, if these nightly rendezvous would still continue.

Then, in a sudden fit of frivolity that could only be part of post-coital haziness, a thought occurred to me.

"Man, Ron will have _kittens_ if he found out.."

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Draco's POV coming up next chapter... 

Like it? Hate it? Please R&R! Flames are also accepted, but if you can't make them constructive, at least make them amusing.


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